


Working Remote

by beccastanz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Degradation, Devoted Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Dominant Ben Solo, Dominant Kylo Ren, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Fluff and Smut, Humiliation, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Masturbation, NO USE of the word daddy, Praise Kink, Remote Control Vibrator, Sex Toys, Squirting, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), Verbal Humiliation, Vibrators, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, kinky and soft, no beta we die like men, only Sir, praise humiliation degradation is the holy trinity amen, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccastanz/pseuds/beccastanz
Summary: They’re in love. She thinks he’s waiting for her to say it first.That’ll be another surprise, but one she’ll save for when she can actually kiss him.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 76
Kudos: 526





	Working Remote

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ~that event~ on John Oliver. Basically just an excuse for webcam sex. Written in a day, and now it exists ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Mind those tags, dears!
> 
> Special thanks to [anopendoor]() for the moodboard!

Ben is always full of surprises. Flowers when she gets home from a busy day at work, spontaneous weekend getaways, his mouth on her cunt when she wakes up in his bed; he’s masterful with it. 

But today, it’s her turn.

He’s on a business trip and she misses him so much, spread out on sheets that still faintly smell of _him,_ of man and musk and lush forest. He lets her stay in his apartment when he’s gone, and she drips with want at all hours of the day, waiting for his return.

She thinks he likes knowing that her body exists for him even when he’s not around. 

His perfect little plaything. His fucktoy. His eager cocksleeve. 

She’s off today, free to spend her time living in the lap of luxury she’s secured for herself. She sleeps in, has a breakfast that was waiting for her in the fridge already (courtesy of his personal chef), does yoga in his vast living room, and treats herself to a luxurious soak in his marble-filled bathroom, bathtub jets working out every ache. 

Well, almost every ache. 

She’s tempted to move her fingers down her stomach, to feel her own wetness, brought on by eager anticipation of her plans for the night. 

But she can wait. 

It’ll be better if she waits. 

She takes her time, shaves her legs and does her full skincare routine (a new addition, thanks to him) and lotions her entire body. 

Then, wrapped in a luxuriously fluffy robe, she travels to the closet. 

_Her_ closet.

It only made sense, he reasoned the day he walked her to one of the guest rooms to show her the racks overflowing with color and luxury. She’s there so often, and he likes to see her in pretty things. 

She never thought she was a “girly girl” before him, but he lets her see parts of herself that she disallowed for so long. Now, pinks and creams and silks and lace are a part of her routine. It lets her feel cared for, soft, pretty. She’s allowed to feel pretty. 

She’s allowed to be taken care of.

As she reaches for the pretty pink matching set, she recalls the first time she truly submitted to him, brought on by a near accident. Their third date, he ordered a bottle of wine and it was so sweet and delicious that she’d downed three glasses before she could think, and of course he insisted on an expensive restaurant, the type that left her craving a slice of pizza after their meager portions. She was quickly moving past tipsy into drunken territory, and he noticed.

“Drink some water, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Sir!” she replied with a giggle, wholly unprepared for the darkness that immediately clouded his features, a hunger she could only dream of, trained on her.

She gulped, and he traced the movement of her throat with his gaze.

Her cheeks flushed, and it wasn’t the wine. Liquid heat poured through her, overflowing into her meager thong, and they simultaneously realized their ruinous potential.

He took her home and she was desperate for him, clawing at his arms and lap on the drive, even more anguished when he refused to touch her, tucking her into his bed with a whispered _when you’re sober, sweetheart._ He slept on the couch like a gentleman, and she snuck out to him in the morning light and ground her clothed cunt against his cock like a slut.

He told her as much.

“Look at you, pretty little desperate thing, aren’t you?”

She nodded, overcome, reaching for the waistband of his sweats with a whine.

“Good girl, my sweet little slut, you wanna be filled up?”

“Yes,” she cried, pulling the gusset of her thong to the side, too impatient to remove it, too wet to bother considering his fingers before his cock.

But he stilled her movements with the strength of his grip on her hips.

“Yes, what?”

Their eyes met.

“Yes, Sir.”

And he let her take him, so slowly, gentle coaxing at her clit and praise and filthy words with every additional inch she took, bestowing her with new names like _slut_ and _whore_ and _dear_ and _sweetheart._

And when her legs gave out, he flipped her into the couch cushions and made her see stars with the force of his thrusts.

There’s been no one else since, and she couldn’t be happier that he brought his car to the shop that day, hopelessly confused, and asked her out for dinner, grease stains and all. 

She shudders with delight at the memory as she slides the silky pink set over her body, deliciously sensitive and primed for him.

She misses his hands and his mouth and his everything, but excitement buzzes beneath her skin for what she has planned.

A little preview couldn’t hurt, right?

She sends him a text, a little tease of her outfit that she hopes will be enough to tantalize, but not distract. He’s so serious at work, sometimes impossible to get ahold of, so she’s more than pleased to see that little “Oh?” pop up on her screen in response to her offer to share something with him. 

She decides to keep her real surprise a secret until they can see each other.

The rest of the day goes quickly, Netflix and a nap passing the hours until finally, _finally,_ it’s time for their video call.

The first time he asked her to do this, her big, strong man whispering _I miss you when I’m gone,_ she nearly cried with the force of being wanted so wholly.

They’re in love. She thinks he’s waiting for her to say it first.

That’ll be another surprise, but one she’ll save for when she can actually kiss him.

She sets up her laptop (the latest MacBook, his doing) on his bed, angles the camera so the frame captures her face and pink, silk-covered breasts, sets the surprise just out of view, and waits.

It doesn’t take long for the request to come through, and she leaps to answer.

He likes her eager, anyway.

When the video connects, a base layer of tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying escapes her body. She can relax at the sight of him on the screen. He looks cozy and sweet, taupe sweater covering his frame in such a tantalizing way she just wants to be wrapped in his arms. By contrast, she is miles of bare skin, sweet and glistening for him, kept warm by the heat of his apartment.

“Look at you, sweetheart.”

And she’s already blushing.

“Hi, Ben.”

“How do you look so gorgeous through the computer, hm? Some kind of magic?”

She shakes her head.

“Must be all the amenities,” she teases. “I had such a nice day.”

He puffs his chest out just a bit at that. He’s a _provider._

“I’m so glad to hear that, Rey.”

A slight tinge of melancholy colors his tone, and she is quick to correct it.

“I missed you, though.”

That fixes it. 

“I miss you too, lo—sweetheart. But I’ll be home soon.”

_Home._

Something she can’t name courses through her at the word, the idea that one day, perhaps, this will be home for them. Together.

She lets the cut off word slide, though it does send a small thrill through her to know that they’re on the same page.

She can’t wait to kiss him when he gets home, to tell him she loves him and fall to her knees and swallow his cock to show him just how much.

“It’s just,” she starts, dragging a single finger across the exposed skin of her collarbones, tracing delicate, teasing patterns across the flesh, “I _really_ miss you.”

His eyebrow quirks, and his eyes follow the movement of her finger.

Hungry.

“Oh yeah?”

She nods, bottom lip pulled between her teeth in an unabashed display of want.

“Yes, Sir.”

He huffs, a little noise from his nose as he adjusts his posture, wanting.

“Hmm. Have you been good for me, sweetheart?”

She nods, furiously, a single strap lifted away from her shoulder by an eager thumb. She pulls it back and forth, not letting her breast escape as he continues his interrogation.

“Did you touch yourself?”

His breath is coming a bit faster now. She thinks he’s sitting at a desk, no doubt in an impersonal hotel room, leaned back in a chair that doesn’t hold a candle to the ergonomic monstrosity in his home office. She endeavors to make his night special, to be as close to him as she possibly can with all the miles separating them.

“No, Sir. I thought—” and she pinches a nipple through the fabric now, letting out a small mewl, “I thought you might want to watch.”

“Oh, Rey.” He exhales her name with a sigh, reverent. “That’s very thoughtful of you, isn’t it?”

She nods her agreement and finally, finally pushes the thin straps down her arms, letting them dangle as her breasts almost escape.

But not quite.

She watches his nostrils flare as she catches the cups of the little bralette, not letting them slide down, continuing to tease herself through the fabric.

She can feel wetness starting to collect, staining her loose, silky shorts. He can’t see it yet, but her cunt is hovering just above the bed, bent legs and knees splayed for balance as her heels meet behind her back, providing a perfect perch for her ass. Yoga left her limber, and she thrills at the chance to show him what her body is capable of.

“Rey,” he growls. Threatening.

She keeps going, teasing herself, head thrown back like she’s without an audience.

“Stop fucking teasing me, you little slut.”

_There we go._

“Yes, Sir,” she whines, voice heated. She lets go of the cups, baring her chest to him through the camera.

Pink frills decorate her rib cage , and his eye twitches as she skates her hand down just a couple inches further, nearing her belly button, a small moan escaping her throat as her other hand pinches a newly exposed nipple.

And then.

“Spread that wet little cunt for me. I wanna see it.”

She might be offended at his assumption, were she not already decidedly dripping for him, for this, for the ache in her belly at his absence warring against the building pleasure at being the reason he falls apart while he’s so far away.

He chooses her, chooses this, and it fills her with delight and warmth and desire.

She pushes the laptop back so her entire body is in frame, and pulls the shorts to the side to show him his cunt.

“Fuck, Rey. I can see how wet you are from here.”

She can feel it, can feel the way her body is ready for him at a moments’ notice, always waiting, always desperate. 

“Can I touch myself, Sir?”

He seems thrilled that she asked, watching her make pretty patterns on her inner thigh as she waits for his answer.

“Just a little bit, sweetheart.” She thinks she hears the sound of a zipper, a hint of flesh on flesh. “Then tell me how you taste.”

A moan is pulled forth from her throat of its own volition.

With one hand holding her short to the side, she uses the other, two fingers spreading her lips so she can swipe from hole to clit, just enough to collect a sample of her own essence.

She sucks the fingers into her mouth without hesitation, laving them with a bit more attention than perhaps entirely necessary. 

She just misses him a lot, okay?

“Tastes good, Sir,” she mumbles around the fingers, eager to please, to show him what he’s missing, what he gets to come home to.

“Of course you do, sweetheart. Always so good for me. Can’t wait to get back and taste you myself, _fuck.”_

His arm trembles, and though she can’t see it, she thinks he might be gripping himself, trying to delay the inevitable.

That’s good, since she has so much more planned.

She brings her fingers back to her entrance, a couple of cursory strokes to her clit before sliding a finger into her hole with a practiced ease.

He watches, enraptured.

“Sir?”

It comes out breathy, pleading, but with an air of command that gives him pause. He watches, expectant.

“I got you a present.”

“Besides this?” He’s amused, smiling, and the ease with which they balance their teasing and control never ceases to astound her. She feels lucky everyday she’s with him.

She nods, reaching off camera to retrieve her surprise. 

“Get your phone, Sir.”

“My phone?”

“Trust me.”

And he does. They trust each other, and that is perhaps the most precious thing of all.

When he comes back on screen, phone in hand, she holds up the surprise to the screen.

It’s a vibrator, but not just any vibrator.

No.

It’s one he can control.

She watches his jaw go slack as he pieces it together.

“I downloaded a new app for you, Sir. I thought even if you couldn’t be here, you might like to be in control?”

Nerves tinge her words, inescapable. But they don’t last long.

“Rey, you’re absolutely fucking perfect. I love—this. I love it. Thank you.”

“Good.”

“Now,” he starts, pulling up the app, “put it in.”

“Yes, Sir.”

It’s a unique design, allowing her to slip one rounded end into her dripping hole with ease, while the other end nestles perfectly against her clit, internal and external stimulation in one device. It’s pink, too, like her pajamas, like the flush that’s spread from her cheeks to her chest at the thrill of being simultaneously watched and controlled.

Her breath hitches as she slips it in, shivering with anticipation.

“Ben? It’s in, do you need help figuring out—”

No. No, he doesn’t.

The balanced position on her heels becomes precarious almost instantly, and she throws her arms behind her to catch herself. Her legs are so open, and she can’t hold the shorts away from her cunt anymore because all she can do is _feel._

It’s light vibrations to start, but the context combined with the buildup of keeping this a secret all day sends her careening to the edge of orgasm far faster than she ever thought possible.

Then again, she shouldn’t be surprised, considering how much Ben has taught her about what her body is capable of.

“Fuck, baby, look at you. Does that feel good?”

She nods, eyes closed, biting her lip, the sound of his voice dripping more slick onto her shorts. Her hips buck of their own accord, humping toward the camera for his observation.

“So close already and I’m not even touching you. Maybe I should be jealous.”

She knows he’s kidding...mostly. But she knows what he needs to hear, so she gives him the truth.

“Not—as good—as you,” she huffs out between breaths, vibrations careening through her entire body as she chases release.

“Good. I’ll still have to remind you of that when I get home, hmm? Get you all spread out and dripping on my tongue before I fuck you?”

She can hear it now, his hand on his cock, and she wishes so desperately that she was choking on it, but then he increases the vibrations and tells her to _come for me like the little cockslut you are_ and she does, violently, serenely, clenching on the toy and letting her legs give out as she falls onto the bed, thighs clenched, hands gripping the sheets as she rides it out. In the vestiges of the sensation, she hears it.

“If I were there, I’d hold your legs open so I could watch that pretty little cunt clench, _fuck.”_ She can hear the movements of his hand speeding up over her laptop speakers, followed by an abrupt halt, and a long, groaned, _fuuuck._

She’s panting, shaking, and he turns down the vibrations just enough to keep her writhing.

“Did you come, Sir?”

“Not yet, sweetheart.” It almost sounds pained, and she can imagine the grip he has at the base of his cock. “You’re gonna come at least two more times before I do. You look so fucking _good_ like that, sweetheart. Now take off the shorts.”

She rushes to comply, to please, to let him see the pretty pink toy nestled where he should be. She leans against the headboard now, legs spread, determined to leave a mark on the sheets.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you look so good.” Her bralette still covers her ribs, disheveled and caught, but she doesn’t care, can hardly breathe, because no sooner are her legs spread than he is ratcheting up the vibrations, even stronger now, making her cry out his name before she can think. It’s almost startling how quickly she comes a second time, the sensation ripped from her without a thought.

“Keep your legs spread, Rey. Come on, sweetheart, let me see you come all over my bed.”

His voice filters through her as she quakes, using her arms to pull her thighs apart so he can see every twitch, every gush, every sensation he pulls from her, even miles away.

She stops coming.

But the vibrations continue.

“Ben—”

“Excuse me?”

It’s so much, too much, she can’t possibly—

“Sir, please, I came—”

“I know you did, sweetheart.” His strokes on his cock resume, and she can hear the intent in his voice to finish as he continues. “And you’ll come again.”

She’s so sensitive, but the toy doesn’t stop, and she nearly kicks the laptop off the bed when she can no longer control her legs; they kick out from her sides so she can arch her back into the air, overwhelmed, post orgasm turning to pre orgasm as he discovers there is an even higher setting, and it’s earth shattering in its intensity and she can only control keeping her legs open so he can see her, leaving her other muscles to their own devices.

It’s then that she does another one of those things he discovered she could do; she squirts.

“That’s it, baby, fucking come all over my bed, _Christ.”_

It covers the sheets, her thighs, a few errant drops on the keyboard of her laptop, and she sobs with it, brain and body and bed a mess. He offers her a small mercy, ceasing the vibrations with a click of his finger.

“Fuck, Rey.”

They’re both panting now, her with exhaustion, him with impending orgasm.

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” he rushes out, exhibiting the telltale sign of how close he is: babbling. “Fucking love your cunt, wish I was there to lick it all up, you’re fucking _magical,_ Rey, I can’t wait to get home and show you who you belong to, my perfect little slut—”

He orgasms with a grunt, and she watches his cum coat his sweater from her sideways position on the bed, hair falling in her face, utterly spent. 

She tries to blow an errant strand out of her eye to no avail.

“Ben?”

He’s panting, smiling, looking at her like she’s hung the moon.

“Yeah, baby?”

She’s not normally sappy, but she lets the strength of her orgasm loosen her tongue. 

“Wish you were here to tuck my hair behind my ear.”

It’s worth it to see the grin that spreads across his face, unrestrained and gleeful.

“I’ll be there soon, Rey. I promise.”

He keeps his promises, and it’s just one of the things that makes him so easy to love. She can’t wait to tell him.

“In the meantime,” and he picks up his phone, waves it in front of the camera, and as he presses the “resume” button, she remembers he’s not all sweet.

That kind of makes him easy to love, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to chat with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/beccastanz)!
> 
> PS: This fic got me to exactly 100k words published on ao3! It’s been an amazing journey, and I’m thrilled to keep writing more!


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